


Trapped In Reality

by SCGirls



Category: Durarara!!, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Game Shows, M/M, Slow Burn, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24130003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCGirls/pseuds/SCGirls
Summary: “Kuru-nee is right, Iza-nii’s name is in there lots. What are we going to do if Iza-nii leaves?” Mairu’s voice wavers as she speaks in an attempt to hold back more tears in favor of speaking. “We can’t do it alone; you can’t leave us like mother and father did.”“I will do whatever I can to not leave you like they left us."
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo/Orihara Izaya, Kishitani Shinra & Orihara Izaya, Orihara Izaya & Orihara Kururi & Orihara Mairu
Comments: 30
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another story I probably won't finish! I already have chapter 2 started on this AU--plus I'm a sucker for torturing Izaya and/or Shizuo (mostly Izaya.....only Izaya). 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think and if you have any ideas put them in the comments~ My writer's block ass might just use one

Izaya was woken up by the sound of screaming.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, to have his mind jerk to quick alertness from the previous hold that unconsciousness had granted him. Even so, it takes a moment for his mind to figure out what woke him. His surroundings are disorienting until he blinks the sleep-induced haze away and his hearing catches up with the rest of the world for him to realize it’s the twins, or at least one of them. There’s a crack in his back when he moves, the product of sleeping on a too hard mattress —if one could classify it as such—and a chill goes down his spine as his feet touch the too-cold-too-hard floor as he stands and pads his way out of his room to follow the shrill screech that jolted him awake.

It’s only a handful of minutes before he enters the twins’ room, and even with the dark hours of the morning he can see the two figures sitting up in their bed hugging the other. It’s once he makes it to the bed that he finds out it was Mairu who startled him awake with her screaming, Kururi sitting next to her with their arms linked in an effort to console her sister. Izaya frowns at Mairu’s shaking form before sitting on the bed next to them causing their gazes to snap up to meet his, which seems to be all the warning he is given before he has Mairu clinging to the front of his nightshirt. Her small hands are making a fist in the fabric, curling the cloth to wrinkles as Kururi buries her face into the back, her hands clucking the fabric just as tightly as her sister.

Izaya doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything; he just places his hands onto Mairu’s shaking back and lets her cry into him. She sounds awful. Izaya can feel how hard Mairu is struggling for breath with every inhale that only leads to another convulsing wave of tears that dampen his shirt to cling to his skin as tightly as she is, can feel every precursor to another round of crying in her hold. He isn’t sure how long he sits there, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t dare pull away even as Mairu’s desperate sobs die and give way to hiccupping breathing, and her hold doesn’t loosen either as her warm breath comes uneven into his shirt. Izaya can’t see her face like this, but he doesn’t need to in order to picture the glassiness of her eyes and the scrunched-up face she is most likely making. 

It’s a while before Izaya speaks, his voice uncharacteristically soft as if he’s afraid to cut through the fragile quiet that is their bedroom to speak to either sister. “What’s got you two so worked up that you girls are separated like this?” The response he gets is a stuttering inhale from Mairu who strengthens her grip on his shirt. He takes a moment of hesitation before he lifts one of his hands off of her back to place it gently on her hair, absentmindedly threading the strands through his fingers in a comforting manner as he spoke. “I’m almost worried you might be scared about something.”

“Alone.” Izaya could feel the response in his back more than he could hear it, the sound muffled by Kururi’s face buried into the fabric on his back sending vibrations up his spine. He tips his head back in an attempt to glance at her, only catching the top of her head before Mairu’s response catches his attention and he fixes his gaze back down to her.

“It was you, Iza-nii.” Mairu’s voice is hoarse as she speaks, still wrecked from her crying as she moves her face deeper into his chest as if to confirm that he was in front of her, to make sure that he was real and she wasn’t imagining it.

Izaya can feel his shoulders stiffen with the awareness of her words, can feel the panic building deep into his gut before he can have a chance to speak in order to clarify what she meant; as if he didn’t already know. It takes him a moment to regain a fraction of his composure, to steady his voice into something resembling calm instead of the panicked rush it threatens to come out as. “Mairu,” He states, taking a second to think through his words before continuing. “I’m not going to lie to you. The chances that I am picked aren’t the best, I know, but they’re not as bad as they could be. You wouldn’t even be alone if I was chosen, you two will have each other.”

“Liar.” Came Kururi’s reply, her grip on his back loosening in favor of positioning herself beside him and gripping his sleeve to get his attention. He lets her, his eyes moving from one head of brown hair to the other, but his hand never leaves Mairu’s hair. “Name.” He could feel his breath hitch with her accusation, the involuntary reaction betraying the calm he was trying to portray.

“Kuru-nee is right, Iza-nii’s name is in there lots. What are we going to do if Iza-nii leaves?” Mairu’s voice wavers as she speaks in an attempt to hold back more tears in favor of speaking. “We can’t do it alone; you can’t leave us like mother and father did.”

Izaya gasps an inhale. His grip tightening on Mairu’s head for a moment, bringing her closer. He can feel her stuttering inhales as he sits there to take a moment to collect his thoughts, to focus on the two in front of him instead of the shock of her confession. “Mairu,” He starts, his grip on her back loosening as he moves to fully sit in the middle of the bed. The action causes Mairu to grip tighter onto his shirt, but he gently pries her off in favor of moving her to one side of his lap and extends his hand to the other. “Kururi,” It’s all the permission she’s given before she climbs onto the other side of his lap, her head resting on his shoulder as she loosely grips the front of his shirt as if she’s attempting to ground herself. “I will do whatever I can to not leave you like they left us. Now, I need you two to try and sleep, we’ve got a big day ahead of us.”

“Don’t.”

Izaya doesn’t protest as he positions himself to the head of their bed and lays down, making sure he has a grip on both girls as he does. They don’t fight the action, in fact, the grip that both of them have on either side of his shirt increases as they position themselves to lay their heads on each of his collarbones, entangling their legs with his as if to trap him so he couldn’t leave; but Izaya isn’t leaving, he’s pulling them closer in some form of comfort as he frowns at the ceiling above him. This isn’t his fault and he shouldn’t be worried. There’s very little chance that he could be enlisted from The Reaping and their fears be in vain, but the hold they have on his shirt keeps him in place as he listens to their breathing slowly even into unconsciousness. He closes his eyes and focuses on the two bodies next to him, his mind vaguely aware of the chill that rakes his body as he imagines them alone.

Izaya does fall back asleep after a while. He didn’t expect to be laying down next to his sisters who, by this point, are practically on top of him. It isn’t a comfortable position to be in, but after a few hours of stillness exhaustion from his thoughts get the better of him and leave his eyelids heavy; and when he shuts his eyes he slides into unconsciousness once more before he has time to wonder if he’ll be able to with the almost-too-much pressure on his chest.

He wakes to the sound of light snoring and an unnaturally warm bed. There’s a weight on his chest and limbs entangled with his forming a cage that keeps him from rising easily. The weight isn’t particularly heavy; it’s unresisting as he shifts to move into a sitting position, the heads of his sisters falling onto the pillows they neglected the night before in favor of his chest. It’s a handful of minutes for Izaya to blink his thoughts back to something like coherency before he comes to the conclusion of leaving in order to speak to Shinra, but before he acts he has to untangle himself from the hold that his sisters have on him.

Izaya looks down to the hands in his lap before he looks to his right; Kururi is laying there, her whole body is still at the bed, slumped forward with the relaxation of her face that is the telltale sign of unconsciousness. He sits there looking at the top of her head, her short brown hair feathering around her as if it was a halo fitting for an angel. His eyes move down to linger at the smooth of her forehead and the weight of her lashes at her cheeks. He can see the patter of dreams flicker across her face as her jaw stays slack and her lips part, her breath coming out in even, soft puffs. She’s the picture of calm, and even he can admit that he’s jealous of how peaceful she looks.

Mairu is laying at his left, her brown hair sticking to her sweat-slick forehead. Her shoulders are tense and her body hunched forward as if she’s protecting herself with the cover that Izaya’s body had granted just moments earlier. She shifts slightly and her face creases as if she’s in the process of coming back to the waking world, but she doesn’t wake as she moves closer to whatever protection she is seeking from Izaya’s sitting body next to her. Izaya shifts in an effort to remove himself from the bed to start his day, but Mairu’s grip on his waist tightens in an unthinking possessiveness that he isn’t sure he should feel appreciated or bothered that he is the victim of.

Mairu and Kururi are both asleep. He had wondered if he wasn’t being tricked into the illusion of unconsciousness from either girl with how they clung to him, but the thought had died when he took his time to notice the even breathing and the dead, unthinking weight that either girl possessed while they lay still on the bed. Izaya looks back to his left, to the mop of brown hair laying there. There’s a warmth there, an odd feeling that catches his breath in his throat and converts whatever was there before into nostalgia as he admires the features that resemble their late mother. He lifts his left hand from his lap in favor of running it through Mairu’s hair; his fingers catching against the strands to urge them back and away from her face. He can see the calm unwind along Mairu’s forehead, can feel the relaxation of her body instead of clutching to the desperate anchor that his body had provided.

It’s only a handful of moments that Izaya sits there, his shoulders are tense as the first birds of the morning wake and sing to the early risers before he finally has the strength and motivation to pry himself away from his sisters. It’s harder than he originally thought it would be, his muscles flex as he shifts and the hold that either girl has on his waist tightens as if to keep him in place. Izaya reaches out to grasp both of their wrists, keeping the pressure feather-light as if he’s afraid that any form of movement will wake them. He moves quickly, but the process of untangling himself from the cage they had formed with their limbs proves to be a little more difficult than he had originally anticipated as their bodies shift closer as his shifts to move away. His heartbeat skids in panic on the fear that either girl will open their brown eyes and him seeing the fear in their gaze, but neither girl so much as flinches when he moves away. In fact, they shift closer together, arms and limbs entangling once more as if they were attempting to become one.

Izaya takes longer than he originally thought to get ready and head to the kitchen in an attempt to make the twins’ breakfast, his mind focusing on the task beforehand as he sets out whatever cracked kitchen utensils he can find. His movements are unthinking as he fills a cracked pot with water before placing it on the stove to heat and gathers the eggs and rice to cook some form of food for his sisters to eat before he leaves.

It’s not until the first rays of sunlight enter through the window, painting the room in a golden orange hue that he determines he should leave. Mairu and Kururi’s food is made and sitting on the table in their bowls, plates covering the tops in an attempt to not only retain some heat, but also keep the bugs out. It’s not much, he knows that; it’s just two small bowls of rice with an egg on top, but he knows it’s better than nothing for the growing girls. His stomach churns as he stares at the bowls, the familiar feeling of hunger resonating throughout his body before he shakes his head in an attempt to ignore it. One more skipped meal won’t hurt.

It takes a moment for Izaya to locate a pen, the mess on the countertop making it difficult to find much of anything other than the cracked pots and pans littering the stained surface. He grabs it; the surface of it is smooth under his touch as he walks away toward one of the unopened drawers. There’s nothing of interest, he decides, nothing but broken utensils and other various small items that have either been useful at one time or the girls saved for some unknown reason. He closes the drawer as gently as he can and pads out of the kitchen and into what would be considered a living room, if it were maintained and furnished properly. 

It’s on a table that he spots it. It’s faded and crumpled, but the piece of paper is still usable as long as he’s careful to not press too hard when he writes. His mind, although trying to work on the task, is fogged over with thoughts of their daily life and struggles. He could already feel the prickling sensation of anxiety on the back of his neck as he presses the pen to the paper. It glides smooth, the ink from the pen making the following his movements to form lines, which soon form words as he continues.

He places the note by the bowls before he leaves, making sure that it’ll be seen and hopefully read by his sisters before they go out and start to worry about his well-being. It’s not much, but what little reassurance he can give them might help ease his own anxiety; might lessen some of the tension that has been building in his shoulders since he awoke just twenty minutes ago. Izaya gives the note one last glance before he leaves the makeshift kitchen and moves to the front door. He sits at the entryway to pull on his shoes, taking more time than the action requires before he grabs the door handle with every intention to leave. He twists the knob, pushing the door open with ease as he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves.

The chilled air that hits his face does nothing to calm his beating heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my lovely betas. Especially to TheCityCesspool for the help! Please enjoy and let me know if you have any ideas on what should happen. Everythign is up in the air right now!

The forest is a distinct contrast from the insides of District 12.

Izaya doesn’t mind it. The forest is quiet, calm and undisturbed; even from the occasional animal scavenging for food or shelter amongst the still living vegetation. It’s nice, he thinks. It’s as if the whole of his being has fit and settled itself into the tranquil quiet and the crisp, mid-autumn air that burns his lungs when he breathes in too deep. He isn’t about to complain about the pain, not when the dropping temperatures bring forth the larger winter animals that he can use for either meat or sell to either the residents of his District or the Peace Keepers.

Izaya’s sitting on a branch high enough in the canopy to gaze over the ground below, one knee drawn up in front of him while the other dangles over the edge in some form of deliberate nonchalance even without an audience. It’s not a comfortable position to be in; he can feel the bark bite into his skin through his clothes and the dull ache of his muscles protesting this decision. He ignores it as he moves his focus below him instead, eyes landing on the leaves and twigs that litter the ground beneath him haphazardly. 

It’s a beautiful sight. The fallen debris look as if they were deliberately placed; as if it was ready and waiting for its picture to be taken, for this moment to be kept frozen in time. Whatever green of the grass that’s left is overshadowed and waiting to rot and be forgotten by the leaves and foliage that cover it. The colors contrast nicely. The leaves, with their warm, fiery hues, represent death and destruction. They take up most of the forest floor, covering what little green, what little life is left.

If this were a real fire in front of him, instead of the image of one, it would be so easy to bring it over to his district; to watch the flames burn and destroy what little they have into nothing but ashes so that nothing would remain. Even then, he’s sure that they wouldn’t be free of The Capitol’s control. The grip they have on The Districts is too tight, too managed and organized for something as simple as a fire to deter them from relinquishing their hold—their tyranny—upon something even as little and starved as District 12.

Izaya jumps down. It was a terrible choice, he decides afterwards. There’s an ache in his legs that travels quickly up to his spine to paint his vision blurry as if he had taken another punch to the gut. His shoulders tense and he blinks hard. It takes him a second to force himself back to clarity by sheer force of will as much as anything else. His first step is hard. There’s too much pressure on his much-abused legs, and with each step he can feel the tingling sensation of his blood flowing back into his veins. _Pins and Needles_ his sisters call it, but to him it’s more like the static of the community television as it tries to get reception on anything that isn’t The Capitol’s influence.

Walking is easier once he gets feeling back into his legs. His steps aren’t as heavy as when he first jumped down. He doesn’t crunch the twigs and leaves with every step he takes; he doesn’t make it obvious that he’s in the forest to most of the wildlife in the area--at least to ones that weren’t aware of his presence already. That makes everything easier. 

It’s quiet as he walks through the forest. The only sound he hears are the birds chirping, creating a soundtrack for his walk. His attention skids from his path toward some small bushes. They’re moving. He can hear a rustling sound coming from them and when he steps closer a small rabbit hops out and away. Izaya makes a few more steps before he takes a hard left, veering off his usual path. Another handful of minutes pass before he stops.

He kneels on the ground next to a rabbit snare. It’s no surprise that this one is empty, even if he is disappointed. It’s slightly out of the way of their hole; just offset of some logs and their usual pathway to and from the forest. It’s not his only one. He’s got dozens of these snares scattered throughout the forest floor and at least one of them should have a rabbit, or some other small animal, for him. The leaves crunch under his weight as he shifts to stand, instantly alerting whatever wildlife of his presence that hadn’t already known from his previous movements.

“I always thought you were smarter than this, Orihara-kun.”

The sound is sharp; a pitch loud enough to travel the small distance from the trees behind him to Izaya himself with little effort. It draws his attention immediately, the sound motioning for him to turn towards it; shock dictating his actions before he can even think of suppressing it.

Shinra is standing there with a smile on his face that’s as bright as his eyes. The white shirt he’s wearing has long turned grey and muted from constant wear and tear. 

“Whatever do you mean?” Izaya’s tone is light, the question rhetorical. 

“You know better than to place traps outside of their usual paths. They’re not like us; animals follow patterns.” Shinra’s hand moved up to his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

“Humans follow patterns too, Shinra.” Izaya states. “They just have more of a thought process and more complex emotions. That’s what makes them interesting.”

“Interesting.” Shinra agrees. “That’s why you spend most of your time in the forest, away from them.”

Izaya shrugs. “One must focus on survival more than enjoyment in these times.”

“That’s true.” Shinra allows before stepping forward. “Speaking of survival, are you ready for tomorrow?”

Izaya’s smile stretches wide enough to show his teeth. It feels like a razer, sharp and dangerous. “My dear Shinra, when am I never ready?”

“Well,” Shinra starts, “there was one that time, when we were younger, where you walked around the district and to my door covered in fish guts. I’m pretty sure I could smell you coming even before you showed up at my doorstep, all wide-eyed and panicking.” There’s a smile on his face and laughter in his voice as he speaks. “I’m pretty sure you were on the verge of crying.”

Izaya can feel his shoulders tense, can feel the skin prickle on the back of his neck. His face heats with self-consciousness that he refuses to admit he feels. “I was not about to _cry,_ Shinra. I think you need your memory checked.”

“Oh no, you definitely were.” There’s a pause before he speaks up again. “Your eyes were so watery and when I asked what happened. You could hardly speak! You mumbled something about fish and pushing.”

“I’m sure you came here for more than just reminiscing on years-old memories. What is it you want?”

“I’m just here to let you know that if it happens, our deal is still on.”

“Shinra,” There’s a hesitation there. It’s only a few seconds where Izaya can’t speak, but when he does his voice is level and measured. “I know.”

“Good. Now, am I going to get any animals today, or are your hunting skills this bad since you’ve been spending your time harassing the Peace Keepers?”

There was nothing Izaya could do to stop the genuine smile that was forming on his face. “Now Shinra, you won’t be left disappointed.” A pause, “I do not _harass_ the Peace Keepers. Just because I speak with them doesn’t mean it’s harassment.”

“True, but what else would you call it?”

“Business.”

Shinra’s laugh is loud and obnoxious. It scares whatever wildlife that had reappeared to disappear again. His laugh is free, though, unreserved and happy. Almost as if none of this was happening; as if no one would get picked tomorrow, no one would get sent to their imminent death. To never be seen again.

“Oh course you would, Orihara-kun.”

Izaya takes his first step away from his snare and towards Shinra. The boy’s smile is genuine, the laughter in his eyes is real and Izaya does his best to not mirror him. Instead, he walks past him and Shinra follows without question. He decides Shinra is like a dog in that way; following who he deems is worthy or important enough and loyal to a fault.

It’s quiet again after that. It’s a comfortable silence, Izaya notes; one where they don’t need to fill the void by talking. Nothing good would come of it anyway. Not today.

Izaya is sure that it's been hours since they came across another snare, but in reality, he knows it's been maybe one. It's not much warmer than it was earlier. Even with the shade of the trees overhead, he can feel the heat from the sun beating down onto his shoulders. There's still a bite of a chill in the air; a foreshadow of what's to come during the winter months where farming proves difficult. 

The next snare they come across isn't empty. There's a brown hare hanging by its neck, eyes closed and body unloving. It's a humane way to kill the creature--not that he cares about that in particular. It’s easier and less messy than hunting with weapons, and Izaya is very against blood being on his hands; metaphorical or otherwise.

There’s a knife in his hand the next second, then the small _twang_ of the metal cord being cut. The fallen leaves crunch as the body falls, muting the meaty _thunk_ the body creates. “That sounds like a good one.”

“Shut up, Shinra. They all sound good when you’re starving.”

“Blunt as always, Orihara-kun!”

If it were anyone else, Izaya thinks, they’d probably be offended--or at least abashed--by the bluntness of his statement. Lucky for him, Shinra’s not just anyone else. That makes things easy; it makes having conversations with hidden meanings sound casual. 

They fall silent again, much to Izaya’s expectations. It’s nothing new for them; to go from sarcastic banter to a mutual silence that only they can understand. It’s nice to know someone like this, to have this type of friendship where you don’t always need to have pretty words to communicate. Silence can be more telling than words, Izaya has learned.

It’s like this until they reach another snare. This rabbit is slightly bigger than the one earlier; it has more meat on it’s bones. It’s a pleasant surprise, he thinks. To have more than one creature captured is nothing short of a blessing; a small miracle for him and his family. If he’s lucky, Izaya might be able to get a third rabbit for Shinra. Though, that might be asking for too much.

The snapping of the metal string rings throughout the forest, then there’s the heavy landing of the body as it hits the ground. He passes the dead animal to Shinra before he stands, taking a mental note to find something that people would be willing to trade metal cords for; he needs to restock his supply so he can make more traps for the coming winter. Maybe this year he could catch something bigger than a rabbit. A fox might be nice, he can sell their pelts for a nice profit; maybe, if he’s really lucky, he could kill himself a deer.

The next few snares follow in a similar fashion. Check for a catch, cut, Shinra, and move on. Today was a surprise, Izaya notes. Usually, there wouldn’t be many rabbits in his traps, maybe one every few days. Shinra has four in his hands, all of varying sizes and ages. The image brings a smirk to Izaya’s face; he can feel the telltale upturn of his lips as he glances in the direction of the district, looking right past his friend. 

“You look absolutely ridiculous, Shinra. It’s as if you’ve never carried a few dead rabbits before.”

“Hey!” Shinra starts, “That’s not fair, Orihara-kun. I’m doing all this manual labor for you and asking for nothing in return. How could you treat a friend as such?”

“Oh, nothing in return you say?” Izaya’s voice is smooth as he almost purrs over the syllables. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I take all four of these things for myself.”

The fearful shriek that Shinra makes is worth it. It’s easy to see the panic in his friend’s gaze; to see the eyes widen and the color drains from his face. His mouth opens for a second, then closes quickly only to repeat the action several more times. “Orihara-kun!” His voice is an octave higher too, Izaya notes.

It’s easy to laugh at this. Shinra’s mind is nothing short of panicked and Izaya couldn’t stop his reaction even if he wanted to. It starts out as a huff of breath through his nose, then it grows into something more verbal. “Oh Shinra, you almost never fail to amuse me.”

“Almost? Should I be offended?”

Izaya shrugs. “I don’t know, _should_ you be?”

“Orihara-kun!”

Izaya laughs fully now, loud and clear. Some birds fly away, startled by the sound. He starts walking then, positioning his body in the direction of his district. Shinra rushes to follow him; he can hear him almost trip before falling into step behind him. The calm they have together is nice, even if Shinra is still sulking from their previous conversation. He’ll get over it soon, though; he always does.

It’s not long until they reach the fence that protects their district. It’s tall, the metal reaching up high enough to where even the tallest of the forest creatures couldn’t climb it. The Capitol says it’s to protect the people of the district from the dangerous creatures that inhabit the outside world, but Izaya knows better. It’s a cage; it keeps everyone inside the walls and within easy reach of The Capitol and President Dougen Awakusu to do with as he sees fit. 

Though it’s not as if he needs to be reminded of this. It’s almost impossible to forget with all the Peace Keepers roaming the streets and keeping everyone in line; at least, as in line as they can manage in a starving district. Their favorite way of discipline, he’s noticed, has been lashings. He’s heard the crack of a whip on someone’s bare skin hard enough to cut and draw blood more times than he believes should be normal. It doesn’t matter the crime. It could be something as minor as theft; stealing in the name of feeding one’s family or oneself. 

Making it to the hole in the fence is as easy as it is safe. The Peace Keepers either don’t know about it, or they don’t care, and that makes this easier for Izaya. There’s no one there to stop him, to keep him from entering and exiting the district as he pleases. There’s a hole in the fence close to the ground; it’s not a big hole, but it’s large enough for both Izaya and Shinra to pass through unnoticed. If the Peace Keepers make their rounds this far out from the city, they either don’t notice it or don’t care.

It’s easy to squeeze through, even with the rabbits that Shinra is carrying. It’s practiced; the movements coming easy as if they’ve been doing it their whole lives. In a way, they have been. It’s not uncommon for them to sneak off into the woods and come back into the district. The path they follow back is different each time; a direct countermeasure for the Peace Keepers in case they decide to come looking around.

His District is noisy and populated. From the people working the fields to people tending the livestock, there is almost always noise from one area or another. It’s always a comfort to listen to his fellow residents; from the children laughing as they play their childish games, to the teenagers and adults yelling over each other as they work the fields and tend to their livestock. Sometimes, with how lively this district is, Izaya could almost pretend that everything is fine; that The Capitol didn’t hold control over them.

It’s easy to get lost in that fantasy; to lose himself in the ‘what ifs’ and childish daydreams of someone who doesn’t know any better. Everyone is happier, then. Their lives made simple when there's no need for this constant state of fear and oppression dictated upon them from The Capitol. They're free; their lives are their own and free to do as they see fit. 

Izaya learned early on that dreams were meant to stay that way; to stay as nothing more than fantasies that gave hope to the naive. Hope does nothing but leads to disillusionment, to the disappointment soon to come from the realization that their dream will shatter and show the bitter truth that is their reality. Hope is a powerful thing. Powerful, but dangerous.

“Hey!” Shinra’s voice is loud, pitching his voice higher than he needs to for how close they are. “What are you going to do with these extra rabbits?”

Izaya tilts his head in Shinra’s direction, looking up at him from the darks of his lashes. “Give them to the butcher’s family. It’s been a while since I played the good samaritan. They deserve a reward for not ratting me out.”

“Generous as ever, I see.”

“Why of course!” Izaya pitches his voice loud as well, a smirk forming on his lips. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t give back to the fellow patrons of my district?”

“And this is all out of the goodness of your heart, isn’t it?”

“Of course! I’m just a generous person!”

“Right.”

“Oh Shinra, you wound me!”

“As if you could be hurt by words, Orihara-kun!”

Izaya can’t hold back the chuckle that forms in the back of his throat. It’s not a completely wrong statement, he supposes. It's been a long time since he let someone's words affect him; since he let someone else's opinions dictate his mood and make his mind focus on himself. He has better things, more important things, to focus on anyway. Now, it's keeping his sisters alive and happy; at least as happy as one can be living here. Even a little happiness is better than living in constant fear.

“Shinra,” Izaya starts, “How many names has your name been put in?”

“My name?” Shinra’s head tilts to the left, his eyes blank as he stares off into the distance. There’s a pause before he speaks; long enough for Izaya to feel the beginnings of anxiousness build in his gut and shoulders. “Probably just the one every year, so probably only 9 times? It’s not like anyone else pays attention to me, Orihara-kun.”

There’s a group of kids running past towards them. One bumps into Izaya; the boy says a quick apology before following his friends. Truthfully, Izaya didn’t even notice with the shock of surprise flowing through his veins. It makes his blood run cold. 

They’re quiet for a few more minutes before they come to a stop in the middle of the makeshift road. It’s always crowded this time of year. The shops are busy; every person available is either trading or helping prepare for tomorrow's festivities. This is the one time of year where everyone bands together as a district; to ignore their own needs to help and focus on someone else’s issues in a show of solidarity.

“I see. Well, I believe this is where we temporarily part ways.” 

“Why don’t you come with me, Orihara-kun? They _would_ like to see you.”

“I would, Shinra, but I’ve got someplace else to be.”

“Off harassing the Peace Keepers again?”

“Of course not. I’m just going to look around the stalls and see if I need to get any last minute items.”

The look Shinra gives him is anything less than disappointed, but he doesn’t comment on it further. Instead, he sighs and shakes his head. “I see, I see. That’s too bad, but I’ll bring your share by your place later. I’ll also be sure to give them the message and your _‘token of good faith,’_ as you called it.”

“I don’t recall calling it anything, Shinra. I believe you’re putting words in my mouth again.”

Shinra laughs before he starts walking. “That may be true, but we both know what it _really_ is.” He doesn’t turn his back to Izaya as he walks, instead he just holds his hand up in a mockwave. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours!”

It’s not long before Shinra disappears from his sight with the promise of food for later. It gives Izaya time to release a sigh of relief; one that he’s been holding in since their talk about names. He doesn’t know how many times his name has been put into the raffle, and honestly, he’s not sure he wants to find out. Sweet talk and bribes can only get you so far in this world, no matter how good you are at stringing your words into pretty little **lies**.

It’s easy to make his way toward his district’s black market. Granted, there’s not much one can buy in this market; most of the time it’s just food that’s considered contraband or just products made by them that The Capitol would be against. If Izaya were honest, though, the poor excuse of a black market they have is only that way because the Peace Keepers will trade there themselves. It seems that even The Capitol’s Dogs don’t even follow the rules they’re supposed to enforce. Granted, it’s up in the air for whether they just don’t believe in what they do, or if they just don’t care.

The first thing Izaya notices is that the market is different today. Instead of the shady stalls and paranoid people there are cluttered stalls with anxious people. Business is out in the open today with every single vendor following The Capital’s strict rules and regulations. It seems that even the Peace Keepers are doing their job today. They’re not partaking in their usual illicit business with the vendors. 

It’s hard to walk through the crowd. It seems that everyone gets the same idea for today, stock up on what they need for tomorrow and pray that you’re not chosen. Izaya’s not sure what he’s looking for, really. He honestly doesn’t even need to be here; going to the market was an excuse for him to avoid spending more time with Shinra and having to interact with the butcher’s family more than he needs to. They’re good people, but they’re nosey; and Izaya doesn’t like people prying into his personal life. He has enough of that with Shirna.

It’s when he passes one of the metal-type vendors he stops. The amount of metal wire Izaya currently has at home has dwindled fast, and with winter approaching and the upcoming games it’ll prove difficult to get the materials he needs; at least until the games are over. The thought makes him stop, makes him pause in his movements to consider what he needs. He has nothing to trade on him, nothing of any value other than his switchblade--which he knows he will never get rid of. The object is too useful to get rid of.

“See anything you like, dear?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m just looking today. I don’t have anything to trade at the moment.”

“Dearie that’s ok. All things considered I can put something on hold for you, if you want.”

It’s then that Izaya looks up from the various metals he was browsing to face the woman. She’s older; judging by her face and wrinkles she appears to be somewhere in her late 60s to early 70s. Izaya knows her as Ikehara Chieko. She’s a nice woman; always helping whoever she can within their small, desperate community. Her husband used to be Ikehara Atsushi. He was what passed for the local blacksmith before he died a few years back to the Peace Keepers. Since then, though, she has taken up the mantle of blacksmith.

“Ah, Orihara-kun. How are your sisters?”

“They’re alright. Thank you for asking, Ikehara-san.” The woman’s eyes are dull as she gazes at him, but the smile she gives him is bright. “Well, if you’re going to put something on hold for me… who am I to turn out such a generous offer?” He pauses for a moment, taking the time to actually search the stall. “If you happen to have any more of your metal cords that you make, I would gladly lay claim to them. I’m running low on the last ones you made and I’ll need some come winter.”

“Oh of course! I’m currently out at the moment, but I can be sure to tell my new apprentice to start on it. Poor child needs something to work on anyway.”

“Oh,” Izaya starts, “You have an apprentice now?”

“Well, I’m getting old and we both know that if we’re to continue we need our small excuse for a forge we have. He’s not much, a lanky little thing. He’s more scared of an anvil than anything else, honestly.” 

“I see,” Izaya chuckles. “I take it you’re gonna make a man out of him in no time.”

“Oh honey I will, I will! He’s new, but he’ll get there eventually!”

It’s now that Izaya spots it; a small glimmering set in between all the other metal pieces. They’re small, just simple pair metal bands that are clearly a set. They’re rings; plain and simple. For a second Izaya can picture his sisters. He can picture their faces as one of their names gets called and the panic on their faces. The fear is evident, and it sends another wave of anxiousness through his system. “Ikehara-san, what would you like to trade for these rings?”

He can feel her staring at him, can feel the hole she’s burning into his clothes with her gaze. Her eyes soften and her voice lowers to something close to motherly. “Just take them. They’re doing nothing but taking space in my stall anyway.”

They both know that’s not true, but they also choose to ignore that fact.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my friend for being my beta.
> 
> And thank you to J-chan for being my second beta when my first decided to be a slut and go ima for a bit <3

The girls are quiet this morning, Izaya notices.

It could be the fact that they’re still asleep; lying in the middle of the bed, curled up and tucked into each other as close as they could manage. They had ditched the blanket sometime during the night, having kicked it off and onto the floor. That’s likely the work of Mairu, he muses. She’s always hated the covers, claiming that the only source of heat she would ever need was Kururi; and Izaya himself if she was feeling extra clingy.

The blanket itself isn’t heavy, at least not anymore. It’s time-worn, the fabric worn thin over years of use. The black fabric has turned grey in places, the lighter patches contrasting with the rest of the dark material. The blanket is frayed near the edges; the years of wear and tear loosening the fabric there to where it slowly comes apart in strands. The free strands pull the rest of the blanket with it, causing it to bunch up in some places and if Izaya were to run his hands over it, he could feel where the strands pull and form a small mountain of thread.

It’s still soft to the touch, even though it’s falling apart slowly. Izaya’s done his best to take care of it over the years; sometimes going as far as to mend the edges himself or going to someone with more skill when he found it too difficult to do on his own. He throws it over his sisters, covering them with the worn thing. It would be good to let them sleep in, he decides. Technically, The Reaping doesn’t start until the late AM, and with how late they were up the night before it’s amazing they’re sleeping at all. 

Izaya wasn’t lucky enough to sleep, but it’s a sacrifice he knew had to be made. He knows that his sisters weren’t going to prepare for today; why would they? This will be their first Reaping. Their names are only in the bowl once, but sometimes once can be enough. He’s not worried, though; there are plenty of other people whose names are in there dozens of times at least. 

He opens the dresser drawers, rifling around quickly for his sisters' outfits. They're not hard to find, of course, as none of them have much clothing to begin with. The outfits are easy to put together. Almost everything they have is the same colors and they’re all muted enough that color matching doesn’t hold much of a purpose anymore. It’s difficult to find one that doesn’t have patches of discolored fabric or out of place stitching. Even when being sent to their deaths, The Capitol wishes to see nothing but the best of their districts.

He decides to do what they normally do when dressing, opposite colors. It’s easy, and it’s something that the girls are familiar with and hopefully that familiarity will be a comfort for them when the time comes. He pulls out a set of skirts and two short sleeved hoodies. It’s not something that one would usually wear during The Reaping, one would usually wear the nicest dress that they own, but they don’t own any dresses. These are the nicest things that they own, so it’ll have to work. 

It’ll be annoying to dress them, Izaya muses. They’ve never really been fond of changing into their everyday clothes from their nightwear, but hopefully things will go smoothly today. He’ll have to change his routine today, he decides. Most days, the ones where he doesn’t go out and hunt, he’ll wake his sisters and have them dress while he makes breakfast. He can already hear the sounds of their footsteps in his head as they run down the stairs and to the kitchen; their voices quiet as they mumble through their good morning greeting.

Today, though, he decides he’ll have to wake up his sisters and make breakfast with them instead. They’re usually messy eaters no matter what’s in front of them. It’d be a deathwish to go to The Reaping in dirty clothes. The Capitol is all about order, all about control and that extends to how their general public perceives The Districts. If even one person is not what they deem  _ presentable  _ to the general public, then the punishment would be flogging; to be whipped in the middle of the town, on camera for the entire population of Hango **.**

Izaya sighs to himself as he steps back to his sisters’ bed. It’s always a pain to wake them. Mairu is the easiest to wake; it’s as if her rowdy and hyperactive personality when she’s awake eases and accelerates the waking process. Kururi, on the other hand, is like waking the dead. It’s a process to wake her, to rouse her mind from the grip that unconsciousness has on her mind and move it to the hazy wakefulness he needs. 

There’s a moan of annoyance when Izaya places his hand on Mairu and gently shakes her. She's waking up. Mairu's head shifts as she burrows her face into the pillow. "Go away, Iza-nii."

"You know I can't do that. You two gotta wake up."

There's another groan. "But I don't wanna. You can't make me."

"In that case," Izaya starts. "I guess you two just won't get to help me make breakfast and eat." He turns quickly, making his exit as neutral as possible. Izaya makes it to the bottom of the stairs before he hears a loud  _ thunk  _ from what he could only assume to be the girls’ room. The thought is only proven to be a fact when he places the cracked pot from the morning before on the stove with water and rice. A smirk plays his lips as the heavy footfalls of his sisters echo throughout the empty house.

“Iza- _ nii _ !” 

The twins barrel down the stairs, almost running face-first into a wall. He can hear the squawk they make when they stomp their way into the kitchen. Mairu is the first to speak, her voice no longer quiet, but just as grumpy. “Iza-nii, you asshole. You’re going to let us starve!”

“Mean.” That was Kururi, Izaya decides. Her soft voice only made louder with the roughness of sleep. Mairu must have woken her up in her haste to get downstairs.

He keeps his back to them, his tone light and neutral. “Well, that’s what happens if you do nothing but sleep all day.” There’s the high pitched sound of a whine, a few stomps of feet, then there’s pressure on his back. He tilts his head backwards, fixing his gaze to his sisters from the corner of his eyes. “Don’t give me that. We both know it wouldn’t be my fault if that happened.”

“Yes it would! You’re a terrible brother!”

“Oh am I, now?” He heaves a sigh, turning his gaze back toward the pot of rice. He should check the fridge, he thinks; there just might be enough rabbit meat left to make some omurice for the girls. It certainly wouldn't be a typical or standard version of the traditional dish, but it would make a fine meal. “That’s too bad. Here I was, thinking that I was doing a decent job in keeping you two brats alive.” 

There’s arms around his leg now, then a face buried in the side of his thigh. A quick head check indicates that it’s Kururi; her short hair is still a mess, all tangled and sticking up in places. She didn’t bother to brush it, it seems. That’s not a surprise, Mairu woke her up in a hurry to get downstairs in fear of starving; even though the actual probability of them starving is low. He’s sure his sisters know that; if Izaya really wanted them to starve he would try harder.

“Mairu, make yourself useful and tell me if we still have any of that rabbit left.”

There's the expected huff behind him, quickly followed by angry stomping headed toward the refrigerator. However expected these sounds were, it was no less irritating. The sound of the refrigerator door opening was so ingrained as normal that he nearly missed the sound of it. The slamming shut of said door was a bit more atypical, however. Mairu must be throwing one of her tantrums again; she doesn’t like being ignored or dismissed easily, it’s a bad habit she’s learned from himself, if he were honest.

“Mairu,” Izaya starts, pitching his voice loud enough to carry over the small room. “Throwing a tantrum is very unbecoming of a young girl. No one is going to want to be friends with you if you keep it up. I thought I raised you better than that.” 

"Shut up!”

Izaya sighs as Mairu slams the rabbit down onto the counter. It makes a loud thud, causing the utensils on the counter to rattle. “Mairu,” Izaya starts, “That was uncalled for. Honestly, you can be such a child.” He takes the rabbit from the counter, moving it closer to him. “Kururi, will you let go of me so I can start cutting this?”

“Make me.” Kururi’s voice is muffled by his pants as she buries her face deeper into the fabric. It’s as if she’s trying to become one with him, to force him to stay with her and keep them together.

“Not you too.” Izaya groans, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “You’re like a leach. Fine, but do not come crying to me if you get hurt.” It’s easy to grab a knife, even if he does have to reach across the counter for it. Kururi doesn’t move, but she does loosen the grip she has on his pants.

Breakfast follows in relative silence. Mairu concentrates on beating the eggs to scramble them. Kururi cooked the rice, though she just sat on the counter and stared at it, watching the steam come out of the lid as it simmered and soaked in what water was in the pot. Izaya focused on the rabbit meat; making sure that it was cooked thoroughly before adding it to the omelet base. 

Dressing them, today, seems to be a hassle. Neither girl wants to listen; instead, they’d rather argue and stomp their feet as if they were toddlers throwing a tantrum. Mairu is more vocal about her disdain. She throws her clothes around, complaining about how she didn’t want to go to The Reaping; on how they couldn’t force her to go if she didn’t want to. Kururi is more silent in her protests, refusing to put on clothes of any kind. She just stands there, wrapped in a thin towel, still wet from the bath he forced them to take after breakfast. 

“Girls,” Izaya starts. “Please just get your clothes on.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, huffing in exasperation. “The Reaping will only take a few hours, then we can come back home.” There’s a whine coming from Mairu’s direction, a stomp of feet, and another huff. “Yes, Mairu, you have to go. You’ll get punished if you don’t.”

Mairu pauses in her stomping, a surprised look on her face. “Punished?”

“Yes, Mairu, punished. All three of us could be if we don’t attend.”

Mairu is quiet after that, and it’s a good couple of minutes before Izaya chances a glance in her direction. Mairu’s face blank, her mouth set in a thin line of neutrality as she just stares at him. Her shoulders are tense, her body frozen there as if his words have rendered her body useless. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight it when Izaya beckons her over to the bed and places his hand on the top of her head.

“Now, I need you to get dressed. The sooner that we do this the faster we can come back home.”

She’s quiet another moment, but then there’s the soft sound of an inhale before she speaks. “Iza-nii’s cooking is scarier than any punishment anyway.”

“Now that’s just rude, Mairu. I thought I raised you better than that.” The girls giggle, their mingled laughter bouncing off the walls before they quickly usher Izaya out of the room. “Now out Iza-nii! We gotta get changed and we’re old enough now we don’t need you to help!”

“Alright, girls, but when I come back you two better be changed.”

The girls giggle once more before he closes the door behind him. It’s chilly outside of the twins’ room with no bodies to radiate heat. It’s always been this way, he supposes, to have the eerie chill of loneliness surrounding the house and unoccupied rooms. There’s almost no difference in feel from the hallway to his bedroom, but this fact no longer bothers him. It’s a comfort in its own way, to have the house quiet save the noise coming from his sisters’ room.

The way he moves to his wardrobe is almost automatic as he pulls out what passes for the nicest clothes he owns. He doesn’t own much, but he knows of one outfit that he saves specifically for this time of year. The fabric is still soft under his touch, the stitching still in place with no frays. It’s quick work to rid himself of his nightshirt; he can hardly feel the chill of the air on his back before he slips the maroon cloth over his head. It’s quicker work still, to rid himself of his pants and to find the set he sets aside for this time of year.

It's nice, he thinks, that the clothes haven't wrinkled too bad over their 3-year hibernation; and nicer still, that they still fit. Izaya rubs his pant legs, smoothing out whatever wrinkles that occurred during the unused time. It had been nice, then; to not think about death, to not think about the panic that fills one's system as they stand in the crowd hoping their name doesn’t get called. Hoping that they’re not sentenced to their deaths.

It’s then, now that the clothes are on his body and he’s standing in the middle of his room, that the reality hits him. His name could be called. They could send him to his death through the games and his sisters would be left alone for the first time in their lives. The panic sets in slowly; he can feel the chill through his veins as if it’s his blood and he forces his body to pace in an attempt to calm his nerves. It doesn’t help, really, but it keeps him from overthinking possibilities and unlikely events.

Izaya can feel the footfalls of his sisters more than he can hear them, and it causes him to stop his pacing and make his way toward the bedroom door. It’s Mairu, he’s sure; she’s always been the loudest of the two no matter what she’s doing. It would annoy him under normal circumstances, but it only seems to put him more on edge as the noise gets closer. If Mairu’s name were to get called, she would be a prime target for the other districts. Children are the easiest to kill; they don’t know how to fight back.

Izaya’s head shoots up as his sisters open the door. Mairu pokes her head in first, her glasses slightly askew and her braids a mess. She’s quiet now, which is strange considering she was stomping her feet on her way there. “Iza-nii, can you do my hair? I messed them up.”

Izaya huffs a breath, feeling his shoulders deflate. “Alright.”

Mairu takes a seat on his bed, setting herself in the middle as if she owns the place. In a way, he supposes she does; more often than not both girls tend to sleep in his room instead of their own. She doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as shift as Izaya reaches his hands out to touch her hair. It’s soft for once, he can feel the strands bending to his will with little difficulty. “You know, I wish you would be this still for me like this all the time. It makes doing your hair much easier.”

“Nervous.” Kururi stated, sitting next to her sister. 

“I know you are,” Izaya pauses, his hands still as he’s halfway through the braid in progress. “But your names have only been in there once. You two will be fine.” He goes back to braiding, willing the hair to the desired shape with practiced ease.

“We know that, Iza-nii.” Mairu interjects, “We’re worried for  _ you _ .”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Your name is in there tons of times. What if you get picked?”

“First of all,” Izaya starts. “That’s not proper language and you know it. I thought I raised you better than that. Second, just because my name is in there more than your doesn’t guarantee that I will be selected. Plenty of other people have their names in more than I do.”

Before either girl could open their mouth to speak, a loud siren broke through the air, scaring the twins. “Iza-nii what’s that mean?”

“Stay still, Mairu. That’s only the signal that we have to head down to the square so we can see who gets selected.” He finishes the braid, tying the end off with a small band. 

Mairu looks up at him then, eyes wide and pleading for something he knows he can’t give. A promise that everything will be alright; that her family will be safe and she won’t have to worry about the what ifs. It's inhumane, he thinks, for a society that claims to love all their inhabitants to send children as young as 6 to die; to send them into the arena for their own personal amusement **.** They’re toys to them, nothing but a number on a piece of paper that they can hurt and maim however they please with no consequences as if they were a spoiled child.

“Come on, girls.” Izaya beckons, holding his hands out for both girls to grasp. “It’s showtime.”

The walk to the check-in area is quiet. Neither girl wants to break whatever silence that they’re in, afraid of voicing whatever concerns they have anywhere near the Peace Keepers. It’s not like they could make things worse, Izaya figures. They’re already walking into what could be certain death, their lives dictated by odds and pieces of paper.

There’s a sudden bump on the right side of the body, causing him to stumble over his feet in an effort to not topple over his sisters. It’s chaos; there's a mass of bodies everywhere, everyone rushing to check-in and wait in their designated section. The girls squeeze onto his legs, latching themselves there like leeches. Mairu makes a pathetic noise in the back of her throat, clinging onto Izaya’s leg tighter. 

“Girls,” He starts, detaching them from his legs as he kneels down to their level. “I’m going to give you two cards. These cards have your names and your numbers on them, so don’t lose it. If you lose it they’re going to put your name in more times in order to replace it.” Izaya pulls out two small cards, feeling the smooth, laminated surface with the pads of his fingers. “Show these to the Keepers up ahead; that’ll check you in and you’ll go stand with the other first timers.”

“But we want to stay with you, Iza-nii!”

“I know, but you have to follow their rules if you don’t want to cause trouble.” 

He holds in a sigh as the girls take the cards in their hands, gently fingering the edges. They look unsure, afraid as if the Keepers ahead of them will do something--something worse, anyway. Mairu stares at the card in her hands, then squares her shoulders and takes a quick breath. Izaya is impressed with how well she’s trying to keep her composure before speaking. “Alright. We’ll see you after?”

“Of course,” Izaya starts, ruffling Kururi’s hair. “Remember, be on your best behavior. Now, go check-in.”

It’s surreal, he thinks, watching his sisters stand in line to check-in at the desks. It’s a vision he’s only pictured in nightmares, when there’s nothing but his thoughts and the quiet of the night to keep him company. Realistically, the odds of one of them being picked is slim to none; but there’s this feeling in the pit of his stomach that sets him on edge. He can't place it, but he knows nothing good will come out of today.

It's a hassle checking himself in. There's a mass of bodies all pushing and shoving into each other at the tables. None of them are thrilled, he's noticed; they all just want to get this over with and the sooner They check in the sooner they can leave. 

"Number." 

Izaya hands over his identification card and watches the Keeper turn pages in his book to whatever page his number is on. The Keeper quickly drags his pen across the page, marking off what Izaya can only assume is his number before giving him the card back. It's a clear form of dismissal. The Keeper hasn't so much as glanced at him before holding an expecting hand out to another person waiting to be checked in.

It doesn't take long for Shinra to find him, the idiot must have been waiting for him instead of waiting in their designated area. "Orihara-kun! You made it!"

"Obviously. I'm not going to risk my sisters' lives by not attending. That's suicide."

"True, but you are known for taking risks that you shouldn't."

Izaya huffs a breath that could be a laugh under different circumstances. Instead, it comes off as equal parts annoyance and defeat. Shinra isn't wrong. Only Izaya would have the gall to continuously make deals with the Peace Keepers for his own personal gain. 

It doesn't take long for Izaya to feel claustrophobic; the amount of bodies surrounding him only forces Shinra and him closer. It's uncomfortable; him and Shinra are now shoulder to shoulder with each other and other people. He can feel the breath of another person on the back of his neck, causing involuntary goosebumps to form and the hair there to stand at attention. It’s never a feeling he likes, to stand so close to people he barely knows for an extended period of time.

It's another twenty minutes before there's a high pitched screech, resembling the sound of a mic dropping. It's surprising how fast everyone goes quiet, eerie even. Izaya is sure he can hear the rustle of grass at the fence, can hear the snap of twigs from the wildlife just outside the borders of his district. He can't, though; instead he hears the sound of footfalls from the stage, amplified by the microphone in the middle of it.

"Welcome everyone!"

The voice drags Izaya's attention to one of the television screens. There's a woman he's never seen before there. Her hair is brown, held up by a braid along the back of her head. She's wearing nothing but black; a complete contrast to what little visuals they see of The Capitol in the only other escort he's seen. She’s young, he’s noticed, probably around his age. They’re starting them young, it seems; sending them to districts to call ones to die. 

"Thank you for joining us in this year's, 99th annual, Hunger Games!" She only pauses for a second, taking in the understandably under enthusiastic crowd before speaking again. "I do know that you guys have a busy day ahead of you and I will try to make this as quick as possible!"

There's music playing across the speakers now, and it's only a few seconds before the videofeed of their escort fades to black and their annual reminder starts. It's asinine, Izaya thinks, to remind them in an hour long video of the history of these dreaded games when it could be a ten minute vocal reminder. They don’t need to hear the entire history of how their districts came to be, how The Capitol came to control the islands that used to be Japan. It’s a slap in the face, if anything. Everyone knows the history, even the youngest kids. The only thing that makes it worse is that they have to participate in these games.

The rules of these games are simple. Each district must provide two people, ages varying from six to twenty-five, to participate. Twenty-four people will be imprisoned in a colossal arena that could be anything from a frozen wasteland to the deserts they’ve only ever seen in books. Over time, these prisoners will be forced to fight to the death; the last one standing wins.  _ Tributes _ ; that’s what The Capitol likes to call them. Izaya finds the name Sacrifices to be more fitting. 

The video takes too long, but it’s eventually over and their escort--who Izaya still hasn’t learned the name of--stands back up at the mic. “Now, wasn’t that just informative? Now, here is where I would announce your previous winners, but since you don’t have any yet I’ll gloss right over that and explain what happens if you win!” Her voice is cheery, but something is off about her. Izaya isn’t sure what, but before he can get time to think about it she continues. “First off, your district will be showered with prizes; food, clean water, even luxuries that The Capitol believes are worthy enough for the district of the victors.”

There’s a pause, the entire district stays quiet as the woman looks into the crowd. “Now that that is said and done, let us see who the lucky two are!”

The escort walks over toward a glass ball that Izaya is surprised he hadn’t noticed before. It’s almost full to the brim with the names of innocent people who could be sentenced to their death. She digs her hand deep into the ball, shifting it around for a couple of seconds before she pulls it out with a flourish. It’s theatrical; unneeded, but that’s the type of thing The Capitol seems to enjoy. If the situation were different, Izaya might even appreciate the effort, he thinks.

She’s at the mic within seconds, the paper held delicately in front of her. He watches her fingers unfold the paper. “Heiwajima Shizuo.”

Relief floods Izaya’s system before he can help it. His shoulders relax, dropping whatever tension he was holding in there for the past couple hours. It’s not him. It’s not Mairu or Kururi. They’re safe.

There’s a part in the crowd, bodies moving to make room for Shizuo as he slowly makes his way out from his spot and to the center aisle. Shizuo’s not much different than Izaya remembers, if he were honest. The biggest is his height; he’s grown much more than Izaya has, so much so that he can see his unruly blond hair above the crowd of other district residents. He’s still stoic, his face blank of all emotions as he walks closer to the stage. It must be the surprise, the shock of his name being chosen out of thousands of pieces of paper within the glass bowl.

District 12 might have a winner this year, Izaya muses. He remembers watching Shizuo when they were younger, throwing whatever he could at someone whenever he was mad. There’s an instance, probably his favorite, where Shizuo got so upset at some other kid, Akai if Izaya recalls, that he had ripped out one of the metal poles that holds the sirens in the ground. He almost threw it at the kid, but instead, put it back down in favor of just a good old punch to the face; which sent the kid flying into a nearby tree and Izaya had to do his best to hold in his laughter.

Shizuo is on the stage when Izaya looks back up, or at least focuses his attention back to the stage itself. It’s the sound of the woman's voice that draws his attention. “Well look at you! You’re tall and handsome; I wonder if you have any chance of winning? Please, tell me about yourself!”

Izaya isn’t sure what Shizuo is saying. He can’t pay attention even if he wanted to when the eyes of said man are staring straight at him. He’s not sure how Shizuo spotted him in the crowd so fast; he’s not exactly close to the stage, or even far in the back. Truthfully, he’s just somewhere lost within the mass of people. Though, Izaya supposes that Shizuo has always had a kind of sixth sense when it comes to locating him, no matter where he hides.

It’s always been easy to tell Shizuo’s emotions just by looking into his eyes. His emotions have always been easy to read that way; he’s never once tried to hide them, and Izaya is sure it wouldn’t work even if he tried to. There’s worry there, swirling within the darks of his eyes. He doesn’t want to die, no one does. There’s a softness there, too. Shizuo’s eyes are warm with an emotion that Izaya doesn’t want to try and decipher.

“Orihara Kururi!”

Whatever spell that Shizuo’s eyes have put Izaya under breaks as pure panic fills his system. His body tenses, eyes widen with the realization of what he had just heard; even if his mind tries to deny it. It’s as if ice had filled his system, body frozen as his mind tries to rationalize the words coming from the woman’s mouth. This can’t be happening; the odds of anything like this were slim to none.

He can hear Shinra gasp beside him, a wail from Mairu across the courtyard, and a small cry from Kururi as she’s slowly pushed into the aisle. Mairu does her best to reach out to her sister, but the other kids are doing their best to keep them apart. Only one person was called, after all. That one person was a six-year-old girl.

It’s once Kururi is halfway to the stage that Izaya’s body reacts. His mind can’t catch up to what he’s doing; his body is acting on it’s own with no thought process involved. He can’t hear Shinra calling his name as he pushes past the Peace Keepers and into the aisle itself. “I volunteer!” It’s once the words leave his mouth that he realizes what he’s just done, and it’s too late to turn back now. Instead, Izaya squares his shoulders to show a false sense of bravado and stares at the woman. “I volunteer.”

Kururi runs up to him then, latching onto his leg as Mairu breaks away from her confines to follow her lead. They’re both crying, begging for him not to leave. That he can’t leave them alone, that he promised to stay with them. Shinra grabs one of the girls, Kururi he thinks, before tugging the other one by the back of her shirt and pulling her away. “Stay with Shinra, girls.”

Izaya can feel everyone’s eyes on him, can feel the telltale signs of fear deep within his gut as he walks up to the stage. The woman looks confused, but she doesn’t try to stop him as he climbs up the stairs and stands at her side. He can feel Shizuo’s gaze on him. It causes his body to burn as if it’s on fire, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand like it always does when the other boy looks his way.

The woman moves her head to face him, a small smile gracing her features. It’s not long until she looks between him and Shizuo, her smile growing in size as her eyes sparkle. There’s something about her expression that bothers him. “Oh my gosh! Two handsome guys, and who are you?”

Izaya doesn't realize the microphone is being shoved in his face any more than him replying to the question. “Orihara Izaya.”

“That's your sister, right? Oh, that’s so brave!” Her words cut off with a long, whimsical sigh. She does her best to keep her voice low, quiet enough to where no one can really hear it. The issue with that, though, is that she’s already forgotten about the microphone she’s holding. “There’s gonna be two, extremely attractive teenagers alone in the woods together. Their hormones on the rise. Oh, can you imagine? It makes me all tingly inside.”

Izaya can’t even appreciate the embarrassment on her face when she realizes that everyone can hear her. His eyes are never leaving Shinra’s, who is holding the two distraught girls. There’s a promise in the way he stands; Shinra’s as calm and collected as he can be while he handles a situation he’s never had to deal with before. Shinra’s pain would usually make Izaya chuckle, but he can’t seem to find the humor in it.

It’s now, when he finally takes his eyes away from his sisters and glances at the woman in front of him, that Izaya notices the cameras. He’s not surprised, really; The Games is just another excuse for The Capitol to party at The District’s expense. They’re trained on both him and Shizuo, this year's Tributes, with the woman discussing something in between them. This is what they want; a show, a bloodbath of a spectacle to put on for their own entertainment. If they wanted a show, he would make sure he gave them the best one they’ve ever had.

Izaya just wishes his life wasn’t going to be in danger.


End file.
